


Glitch in the System: Homecoming

by SystemGlitch



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Enthusiastic Consent, F/F, Porn With Plot, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 13:22:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12169713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SystemGlitch/pseuds/SystemGlitch
Summary: By K.Follow-up to the end of "The Mission".A vacation happens.





	Glitch in the System: Homecoming

Akande, to no one’s surprise, made more than good on his promise.

Widowmaker made all the arrangements: the flight from Venice to Geneva; the limousine for the hour’s drive from Switzerland to the shores of Annecy, France; and the private ferry for any trips to the mainland from her family’s otherwise waterlocked château near the southernmost point of L’ac d’Annecy. All this - plus accommodations for their return trip - was in addition to the other, smaller affairs required for both their stay and her intended renovations to the building: the delivery of groceries, wine, firewood, blankets, hardware, painting supplies, fresh linens, more blankets, and, at Sombra’s insistence, the asinine degree of coordination needed to ensure separate transport for Toulouse on their flights.

“Akande is going to shit when he sees these,” Sombra chuckled as she thumbed through the stack of receipts neatly piled at the edge of the sniper’s desk.

“Oh, he knows,” Widowmaker replied airily, plucking the papers from Sombra’s hands and tucking them into a pre-addressed envelope. “I am simply sending him itemized copies for procedure’s sake; insult and injury. Are you ready?”

Shouldering her bags, Sombra nodded the affirmative as her colleague slid the envelope into her coat pocket. “Don’t forget Toulouse,” she added, peering around the sniper’s side with focused concern. Sighing, Widowmaker shifted her own knapsack to the opposite shoulder and grabbed the cat carrier before following Sombra out of the room.

* * *

 

A retinue of loosely gathered clouds kept pace with the limousine from on high as it sped across alpine roads, their edges defined by verdant evergreens capped with a light dusting of snow. Widowmaker watched Switzerland pass silently by over her shoulder, its features blending with the speed of the vehicle to form a living impressionist landscape. She lay against the padded leather corner of the passenger-side door and seat, one leg hanging off the edge to better accommodate Sombra’s head in her lap and the arm wound loosely about her waist.

Though their travels thus far were blessedly uneventful, the hacker claimed exhaustion upon their retrieval by the chauffeur and wasted no time in inserting herself squarely within Widowmaker’s personal space once they were on the road. It had required some logistical adjustment given the form and function of the limousine were not intended for lazy mid-afternoon cuddles at the behest of a particularly enthusiastic career criminal, but Sombra, as always, made it work.

“I’m an innovator,” she mumbled sleepily, giving the sniper’s waist a gentle squeeze.

“An  _auteur_ ,” Widowmaker grinned, her chin propped in one hand supported by an elbow against the doorframe. “Truly, a visionary. How do you do it?”

“Persistence.”

“How is your arm?” the sniper asked apropos of nothing, trailing her free hand along the exposed curve of Sombra’s recently unbandaged shoulder. A simple question, and an unnecessary one at this point; still, a shadow of concern lingered at the back of her mind, nagging that she ask.

Sombra wriggled onto her back, tilting her chin to meet the sniper’s gaze. “Hurts a little in the mornings,” she conceded, softening the statement by capturing her colleague’s hand and placing a single kiss against her knuckles. “Maybe don’t ask me to reach for anything high up.”

Widowmaker endeavored to stifle the frown threatening the corner of her mouth, but the knit of Sombra’s brow made it clear she wasn’t quite fast enough.

“Hey. It’s okay,” she added, squeezing her hand. “You’re always the first to say  _‘zees is what we do’_. I know that. We all know that.”

Sighing, the sniper returned the gesture. “That is not what I sound like.”

“Says you.” With a quiet chuckle, Sombra reached for the cat carrier set against the seat, slapping Widowmaker’s hand away as she attempted to prevent her opening it.

“No cats in the limousine,” the sniper yawned.

“Too late,” the hacker retorted, reaching beyond the door to idly scritch behind Toulouse’s ears. “So, what’s with the home improvement shit?”

“I wanted to bring something to life for once,” Widowmaker shrugged, casting her gaze backwards to the world passing them by just beyond the window.

It was an undertaking, of course - one for which she possessed none of the requisite skills, and one she therefore suspected would take years to complete. Of course, the option to hire an outside contractor was always available - heaven knew she had the funds - but she found a certain appeal in the prospect of restoring the château herself. It was an endeavor all her own: for her, by her hand, at her own behest. She recalled through the haze of years her excitement as its ownership passed legally into her name, the discussions had with Gerard over the possibilities it presented. She thought that dream dead, and even now could hardly call it a dream so much as a project, but whatever it was, it was irrevocably hers. She could claim that of so few things that this endeavor, despite its magnitude, felt intrinsically worth it.

“I wanted something that was mine,” she added after a moment’s consideration.

Sombra’s grin stretched into a smile. “Thanks for letting me help.”

* * *

“Jeez, spider,” Sombra gawked, craning her neck upwards as she took in the château looming overhead. “This is some fairytale shit.”

Waving her evening’s farewell to the ferryman, Widowmaker watched as the watercraft lurched away, cutting a wide arc as it sped toward the mainland. Evening was upon them, pinpricks of starlight glimmering in duplicate from above and below in the reflection cast by the lake. As she turned to follow Sombra up the short flight of stairs from the landing toward the main entrance, the sniper caught sight of the light refracting off the water and onto the walls of the château, bathing it in an ethereal glow; all things considered, she couldn’t deny the comparison. In daylight, the manor was, by all means, impressive - particularly to the understated majesty of French Renaissance architecture; at night, however, was when it was at its most breathtaking, the intricacies of its myriad cornices and pilasters bathed simultaneously in pale moonlight and shadow as if it were an otherworldly apparition.

She missed this place, if not for what it once represented then for the stately beauty of which it was capable and the respite it offered.

Light greeted them from within as Widowmaker shouldered open the tall, broad doors leading into the main hall of the  _donjon_ , the electric sconces and chandeliers left alight subsequent the departure of the hands she’d hired to stock the building. Sombra pushed past her, glancing about the main hall in a wide-eyed mix of disbelief and fascination.

Dropping her bag at her side, she turned to the sniper. “I’m gonna’ need an hour,” she began excitedly, glancing over her shoulder. “You mind?”

Widowmaker shook her head. “Make yourself comfortable,” she replied.

“ _Gracias_ ,” the hacker grinned. She started to take her leave, then doubled back. “Anything off limits?” she asked. Widowmaker shook her head, waving her off.

“Not to you.”

* * *

Well over an hour later, Widowmaker heard beyond the door of the master bedroom the sound of light footsteps echoing throughout the hallway, punctuated by the intermittent creaking of other doors and a moment’s quiet hesitation. Kneeling at the hearth before a freshly-lit fire, she paid her colleague little mind, assuming the vacillating pattern of action and inaction part of Sombra’s protracted exploration. She couldn’t fault the spy the additional time; the château was spacious, to say the least, its details as multitudinous as they were breathtaking. A particularly discerning eye could easily spend hours in perusal, if not the better part of an afternoon.

As Sombra’s footsteps took on an audibly repetitious path about the hall, Widowmaker reconsidered her initial suspicion. “Problem,  _cherie_?” she called over one shoulder as she returned the poker to its stand, considering her job well done. It was far from necessary given the installation of central air decades ago, but the end result - the lick of orange light across pale walls and into the rafters of the pitched ceilings above - was worth it. If it wasn’t calming, it was certainly more inviting.

Sombra’s footsteps drew near as the sniper climbed to her feet, their echo growing louder with her approach.

“Where am I— oh,” she started, stopping dead in the doorway. Widowmaker tilted her head, confused.

“Am I staying with you?” Sombra asked, nodding toward her bag. Across the room, Widowmaker followed the line of her gaze to the knapsack in question, tucked against the foot of the four post bed beside her own. She hadn’t considered whether Sombra  _wasn’t_ staying with her; after a moment’s hesitation at the top of the staircase, both bags in hand as she contemplated the observable shift in their rapport, she’d simply assumed it the practical option.

Retroactively, she recognized the implications were more forward than intended -  yet another face-first pratfall into subtext she was never quite certain was accidental. It was as increasingly unavoidable as it was persistent, especially within the past week, an undercurrent to every passing touch, every glance across the outpost kitchen, every kiss that seemed to end _just_  short of becoming something else entirely. Where she once evaded that subtext as an inconvenience, her resistance waned over the preceding month and gave way entirely after their failed mission; now, it seemed the only thing left to do was own up to it, if not embrace it.

Crossing to the entrance, Widowmaker pulled the door further open. “Do you want to?”

“Do  _you_  want me to?”

“Clearly,” the sniper replied, nodding toward the offending bag. “I should have asked.  _Désolée_.”

“You think too much,” Sombra half-laughed as she cleared the threshold, curled a fist in the knit of the taller woman’s shirt, and rolled onto her toes to kiss her - once, softly, then more insistently as the last of their perfunctory boundaries dissipated with the space between them.

“This is all right?” Widowmaker asked against Sombra’s lips. “This is what you want?”

“ _You_  are what I want,” Sombra grinned, slipping soft fingertips beneath the hem of her sweater and upwards along the curve of her stomach. She kissed her again - deeper this time, parting the taller woman’s lips with her own as her touch drifted, splayed across every curve along her path. That simple affirmation - not just of want, but of wanting  _her_  - ignited the persistent, smoldering ember that lent its light to all their interactions. She found comfort in its glow, a reprieve from the cold and controlled existence she could discern among the backdrop of her days now that she knew where to look for it. Now, Sombra offered that flame an entirely different fuel all together, and Widowmaker couldn’t conceive of a world in which she could refuse.

“Bed,” she commanded as she slid an arm about the shorter woman’s waist and lifted her into the air by the back of one knee. Sombra’s sole response was a surprised, breathless laugh, low and quiet beneath the sniper’s ear as she set her down on the mattress. Peeling off her shirt and tossing it aside, Widowmaker followed shortly after, acceding to her colleague’s persistent tugging at the waist of her jeans.

“Better?” Sombra asked.

“Almost.”

“Almost?”

“You could be wearing less,” Widowmaker replied, grabbing the frayed edge of the hacker’s shirt and giving it a single, emphatic pull. With the suggestive quirk of a notched eyebrow, Sombra batted the sniper’s hand away and wordlessly complied, discarding her shirt and bra in quick succession before the assassin pushed her back against the mattress.

“You are beautiful,” she said, leaning in to press her smile to Sombra’s shoulder, then her collarbone in a line of kisses that crept slowly downward. “I should tell you more.”

“Now’s good,” Sombra sighed, shuddering beneath the spider’s roving touch.

“ _Trés jolie_ ,” Widowmaker purred, fingertips tracing the arc of her ribcage, then the softer curves above it. Sombra arched into her hands, encouraging the sniper’s exploration as much as reveling in it. Words fell quickly by the wayside, replaced by a language of touch and teeth and the hitching of Sombra’s breath as Widowmaker slid a toned leg between her own and leaned in, punctuating that single, teasing gesture with a long kiss.

As in all things, the sniper proceeded with inhuman patience. She took her time as she tugged Sombra’s pants over her waist; she took her time as she ran her fingers gently along her hips, then thighs, then between them in a firm, deliberate circle that left the hacker dragging her nails along the line of her back. Even as Sombra rolled her hips against her hand in a plea for release, Widowmaker maintained that pace: slow - agonizingly so - attentive, lingering. Despite the pooling heat of her own desire, this was more important: Sombra, warm against her hand, body flush against her own, mewling a string of half-abandoned obscenities against her shoulder as she came.

Minutes passed, quiet but for the heat of the hacker’s staggered breathing against her neck. Widowmaker didn’t mind the silence, nor the delay in her own satisfaction; there was plenty of time for that - if not now, then later. Instead, she waited, content with the grasp of Sombra’s arms about her back, pulling her, somehow, closer. There was something prepossessing about the warmth Widowmaker found there - in Sombra, and in all she offered - an unplaceable something which the assassin struggled for weeks to name. It was abiding, constant, soft, and utterly unfamiliar, both to her and to the world of shadow which they inhabited.

It felt like the onset of spring after nearly a decade of winter.


End file.
